Drunk on You

by Teri Anne Stanley

  He was halfway down the hall before she moved to follow him. Dang, those cargo shorts looked good on his butt. But then, she liked him in jeans and dress pants, too. And without. She shook her head. She was here to be a friend. Friends don’t mentally undress friends.

  “If you’re just going to soak, do you want to use the hot tub on the back deck?” she asked. That would be good. She wouldn’t have to be up close and personal with his naked body in the bathroom if he got in the hot tub.

  He turned his head and said, over his shoulder, “Yeah, I guess so. You gonna get in with me?”

  …

  Justin knew that asking Allie to get in the hot tub with him was pushing it. But when she said she was thinking of sleeping at home, he felt…bereft or some pansy-assed thing like that. They’d had such a great day he wanted to prolong it. And he was sober. He could keep his hands to himself.

  The idea of soaking in hot water, under the frosty sky, chatting with her a little more, making her laugh, letting her make him laugh…well, he didn’t deserve it, but he wanted it. And she did deserve it. If hanging out with him could be considered a good thing.

  “I don’t have a suit here with me, and I’m not getting naked on your back porch,” she told him.

  He noticed that she didn’t say, “I’m not getting naked with you,” but he shoved that out of his mind. While he might have admitted to himself that he wanted her around, he still wasn’t going to be an asshole and sleep with her. Dave’s ghost would float over to the New Orleans section of heaven and pick up a zombie potion and use it on himself. Then Zombie Dave would rise from Arlington and find the motor home, whenever they were at the most remote camping spot of their trip, and open up a can of whoop-ass never before seen by man.

  “Just wear one of those tank top things and shorts,” he said. “I’d tell you to go through Mom’s stuff and borrow one of her suits, but I think she took them all on the cruise with her. She said something about not being able to decide.”

  Mostly, the thought of Allie in one of his mother’s modest one-piece swimsuits with the little skirty thing kind of skeeved him out.

  And then it made him wonder what she’d look like when she was old enough for grandchildren, laughing as she chased them in and out of the surf on a beach vacation.

  Sheesh.

  She thought a minute, but he’d apparently shot down her arguments pretty well, because she finally said, “Okay, I guess. It would feel good to float around a little.”

  A few minutes later, when he came out of the bathroom, she was in his room, and he wasn’t so sure this had been a good idea at all. She was bent over in booty shorts that said “Kiss it” across the ass, digging in his bottom dresser drawer. She finally came up with board shorts he was pretty sure he’d had since middle school.

  “I’ll just wear some gym shorts.” Maybe not a great idea. Wet knit was going to show her just how much being near her affected him. Though she already knew that. But it was dark out. And hell, she’d already seen him in less.

  “I can’t believe you don’t own a swimsuit,” she said, turning.

  His heart stuttered and his dick twitched. She didn’t have on a tank top. She had on a sports bra. At least it was black, not white. If he’d been able to see the dark circles of her nipples, he’d have had a heart attack and would end up with an erection lasting more than four hours.

  Her hair was up in some sort of complicated twisty arrangement that had probably taken about thirteen seconds to put together, held with one chopstick. What was up with that? If she was going for the “hardly any makeup and a ponytail” look, it would have taken her three hours. At least, that was the way it had worked for the occasional girlfriend he’d hooked up with over the past few years.

  In Justin’s experience, the lower-maintenance a woman appeared to be from the outset, the higher the price in the long run. He’d finally opted for the “What was your name again?” option when it came to girlfriends.

  Allie, though, didn’t fit in any of those categories. He already knew who she was. She was a little bit of everything.

  …

  Hot water enveloped Allie’s legs and hips, pulling her down into chlorine-scented comfort. Justin leaned against the far side of the hot tub, his muscle-laden arms stretched along the edge, water licking at the dark hair on his chest, flirting with his nipples. This was a bad idea.

  He stared at her through heavy-lidded eyes. Oh, shit, maybe this really was a bad idea.

  “Did you already take that pain pill?” she asked. There was a warning, right there on the side of the hot tub, which said not to get in if you were under the influence of drugs or alcohol.

  “Nope. I’m saving it until I’m horizontal,” Justin said, bending his head this way and that, stretching his neck.

  Satisfied he wasn’t going to suddenly pass out and fall under the surface, Allie gingerly sat on the molded seat on her side of the tub. She’d mentally drawn a line she wouldn’t cross, no matter how much her libido and his bedroom eyes tried to convince her otherwise. She’d put Justin in the friend zone, and she wasn’t going to violate that rule the first night of the new season.

  She sank down until the water reached her collarbone and sighed. Was there anything as glorious as hot water on a chilly night? The stars winked at a few planes making their way across the sky.

  For a while, the only sound was the hot tub’s motor, gently churning the water. She sneaked a peek at Justin and caught him watching her again. Her already-warm skin grew hotter. She should wish he wouldn’t look at her like that, but she liked it. She really liked it.

  She shifted on the seat.

  “Are you comfortable? Want music?” Justin reached the controls of a waterproof radio and fiddled with the buttons. Mellow jazz floated into the air.

  “Really?” she said. “We must be getting old.”

  “Honestly, I kind of got used to the same playlist for five years, so my taste is a little rusty,” Justin told her. “Feel free to choose something yourself.”

  She stroked closer to him, trying not to let her legs tangle with his, but helpless to avoid small brushes of her feet against his calves, the hair tickling her toes and distracting her from the numbers on the display.

  The first station she landed on was a hellfire-and-brimstone preacher. She paused and turned to look at Justin. “This one might be good for you.”

  He splashed her in reply.

  “Thank you for your input.” She tried again, delicately wiping the water from her face.

  The next station was playing old-time country.

  “What, did they stop importing rock and roll to Kentucky while I was overseas?”

  It was Allie’s turn to splash Justin.

  She got in one good whap at the water before he grabbed her hands to stop her.

  Giggling, she tried to pull her hands free, but was laughing too hard.

  When she did manage to get a hand free, he earned a major splash. This time he cursed and rose from the water slightly, grabbing her and turning her, wrapping her in his arms, hers crossed in front of her, so she couldn’t lob any more water at his face.

  He fell backward onto the seat. “Be careful. I’m damaged.”

  She snorted. “We all know that. But I think if you’re going to wrestle me into submission, you don’t get to play the severely-sprained-ankle card anymore.”

  They both must have realized the intimacy of their positions at the same time, because the abrupt silence rang with innuendo.

  Her backside was pressed against his lap, his big, muscular thighs bracketing hers, his arms holding her back against his chest. A breath skittered over her left shoulder, sending a shiver that she couldn’t suppress down her spine.

  The heat from his body was ten times more dangerous than the water. In spite of every resolution she’d made an hour ago, every roadblock he’d put in her path, Allie craved his embrace. Just for a few seconds. Just…just to give in and feel this, this aching want, for a brief mom
ent in time. And then…then she could move on.

  Chapter Twelve

  Oh, holy hell. Justin felt Allie’s sigh in her movement, the slight arch of her back, her ass nestled against his throbbing balls, his cock hard and pressed into her lower back. Fuck. He had to let her go before this got too intense. And he was going to. In just a second.

  A drop of water fell from her hair, ran down the side of her neck, and disappeared over her shoulder. He imagined it rolling between her breasts. Somehow her head was tilted to the side, and his mouth was a hairbreadth away from her skin. He could feel the heat of her shoulder with his lips, and that elusive perfume was a taste away. It was like a magnetic force holding him there. He turned his head, ever so slightly. Surrendering, he pressed his open mouth against that spot on her neck, just under her ear.

  Her sigh became a little moan when he licked her skin, salty-sweet and so smooth and tender, he thought he could probably spend the next six weeks right there, learning that small section of skin with his lips and tongue.

  Her hands had come from under his hold to press his arms around her. Interlacing her fingers with his, together they explored her abdomen. He never, ever would have thought the softness surrounding a belly button would make him so fucking hard. But this was Allie’s stomach.

  His breath hitched; he tried not to hyperventilate, but the urge to rise onto his one good leg and turn their bodies, press her against the side of the tub, and pull those ridiculous shorts off and slide into her wet heat was consuming every synapse in his brain.

  She guided his right hand higher, to the bottom of her sports bra, and hesitated. His breath froze. He couldn’t let this— She pressed his hand higher until he felt the firm weight fill it, the nipple raised against the skin of his palm.

  He groaned.

  She gasped.

  Oh, hell. He was touching her. His left hand skirted lower, just reaching the juncture of her thighs, which he had pressed tightly closed between his own. But she squirmed, and he thought maybe the very tips of his fingers were almost where she wanted them to be.

  He groaned, pulling her more firmly against his groin. It wasn’t enough. He was going to hell. He had a vague notion of throwing himself on the spear of the vengeful ghost of Dave McGrath, and then it was gone in a haze of lust.

  She pushed away a little, and he let her go, reluctantly, knowing it was for the best, but wishing—

  She turned to face him and floated back down over him, her thighs spread, straddling his lap.

  One last brain cell fired, and he said, “I’m not sure this is a good idea.”

  She looked at him with wide eyes and parted lips. “Life is too short to wait for good ideas.”

  Before he could process that concept, her mouth was on his, her tongue in his mouth, and he was licking back at her, nipping at her lips. Cherries. Today, she tasted like cherries.

  She writhed against his cock, a little cry escaping as he ground back up toward her.

  He slid his hands up her rib cage, cupping her breasts, squeezing, tugging at her nipples. He broke away from her mouth and bent his head, sucking one nipple into his mouth as he pulled her bra out of the way. He’d come back later and look to see if her nipple was, indeed, the same color as her lips. And then he’d see what else was that color.

  Jesus, he was hard, and the wet fabric between both of them provided just enough friction that he was perilously close to coming.

  But he wanted to feel her go over, to watch her, before he completely lost his mind.

  He had to let go of her breasts to push her back a little, but then he slid a hand between their bodies to slip his fingers under the edge of her shorts and—oh, hell, she wasn’t wearing panties under those shorts—found her, slick and swollen. He slid his fingers against her, feeling her clit twitch, trying to learn what rhythm worked for her.

  She panted, little whimpers in his ear while he stroked her. She held on to his shoulder with one hand, fingernails digging into his flesh. Her other hand found his erection, caressing him. He didn’t have the will to tell her to stop, even though he was fast approaching the precipice. He thrust two fingers inside her and continued to toy with her clit with his thumb.

  Too quickly, she cried out and collapsed against him, throbbing around his fingers as she came.

  The groan he let out a few seconds later as his own release overtook him was echoed with more pulses against his hand.

  “Oh God,” she said against his neck, her limbs draped around him. Reluctantly, he slid his hand from her body, but holding her against him felt pretty damn good, too. The wide-open Kentucky night above them, her arms around him, warm water below—all of his demons were far, far away tonight.

  He couldn’t move. Didn’t ever want to. Didn’t think he should. If a dry hump in the hot tub—wet hump?—left him this wrung out, actually getting inside this woman would probably kill him.

  The sounds of the night, the chilly air, the smell of the bubbling water reasserted themselves, and his leg throbbed now that his blood flow was returning to normal.

  Squeezing her gorgeous rump, he said, “Be my girl and move to your right an inch or so.”

  A sharp intake of breath, and Allie moved completely off of him.

  “You don’t have to go that far,” he began to protest.

  But she’d already scrambled out of the water, and he had to turn to see her dripping on the deck. She reached for the towels she’d put on the nearby table.

  “Hey…” he started, but she shook her head.

  “Let’s get you out of there.”

  His head thunked back against the edge of the tub, and he stared up at the sky, distant, frozen stars shooting sparks of accusation at him. There were those good old demons. He’d crossed the line again—but why hadn’t they reminded him to stop before he got there? He wasn’t staying here, he didn’t belong here, and the last person Allie needed was him. “Shit, babe. I’m sorry.”

  “Come on.” She stood nearer now, holding his crutches and a towel, staring across the deck. Steam rose from her body, but her nipples were beaded with the cold, and she shivered.

  He reached for her arm. “Hey. Look at me.”

  She glanced at his face, then away again.

  Allie had reached something inside him, something deeper than his skin, his muscles, those nerve endings that screamed for release when she was near. He had to convince her that he wasn’t going to molest her every time they were near each other—although maybe he needed to convince himself first.

  “I shouldn’t have touched you like that. I just—it’s been a while. You know—horny guy, we’re all alike.” That was lame. But he didn’t want her to know how much he wanted her. He couldn’t have her. And she didn’t want him, the guy who didn’t bring her brother back from war.

  She laughed, a dry, bitter sound. “Yeah. I know. I’ve got hormones, too, you know?”

  True. She had come apart for him like nobody’s business.

  “Are we okay, then?” He smiled at her.

  She returned it. “Of course.”

  He had a feeling that she wasn’t any more unaffected by what had just happened than he was.

  Chapter Thirteen

  “That’s my girl. Hope to hear from you soon.” Justin’s low, sexy laugh crawled like a block of ice into Allie’s stomach when she walked into the Morgans’ house.

  Justin shoved his phone into his pocket and turned to her, surprise on his face.

  She’d managed to get a good three hours of sleep before she gave up and started loading the Blue Mountain Rainbow Dog Express. Morning-after regrets had her so distracted that she’d stuffed her toiletries in the ancient, leaky-seamed backpack she’d carried in high school instead of the incredibly cool Thirty-One messenger bag Eve had given her for her last birthday. She didn’t bother to rearrange, just tossed the bag into the camper along with her suitcase and came back in for—what? Now she couldn’t remember.

  “Hi.” Her smile felt stiff, the pain and
humiliation welling up in her like that long-ago day at the Lexington airport. “You ready to go?”

  “Sure,” he said, nothing wrong at all. No just-ended-booty-call twisting his conscience. No, she’d realized, staring at the ceiling last night, he might struggle with his warped sense of honor and an overactive libido in the moment, but any hurt feelings on her part belonged to her—it wasn’t his fault she kept attacking him. She should know better.

  As they locked up the house and finished packing the camper, she again dissected every moment of everything that had happened last night, and she was coming up with a tangle.

  Their bodies couldn’t seem to stay away from each other. And her heart was along for the ride. Fortunately, her brain was there to remind her that whatever happened, Justin’s body was only recognizing her body. She didn’t know what his heart was doing; he had that wrapped up tight and locked away.

  Except she wanted him. She really, really wanted to be with him. Was she willing to take what he could give her? An orgasm now and then with no promises of more? If she really cared about him, maybe she should stay away so he didn’t feel so guilty any time he succumbed to his “needs.”

  If only he’d stop calling her “his girl” or “babe.” But there was no way she was going to explain why his generic, a-few-endearments-fit-all was an issue for her.

  It was okay.

  It really was. They were about to spend a week together, traveling across the heartland, promoting Rainbow Dog whiskey. It would go smoother if they maintained a professional distance. And that would happen best if they just pretended those moments in the hot tub hadn’t happened.

  She stashed the last case of Blue Dog into the storage area under the camper and locked it. She said a little prayer that this trip would yield an investor for Rainbow Dog. So that she wouldn’t have to see Justin give up his plans to move out West in order to stay here and repay her loan by sacrificing himself on the altar of his father’s plans.